


How to Take Care of Your Bittle

by omgchequeplease (LittleBitsofIdeas)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, post concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6442315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBitsofIdeas/pseuds/omgchequeplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty wakes up the morning after he got checked. Jack's there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Take Care of Your Bittle

**Author's Note:**

> "How to Take Care of Your Bittle" is a series where I write about Bitty getting messed up in some way, and someone taking care of him. This is the first in a series to come.

Bitty doesn't exactly remember the night he got checked. He remembers talking to Jack about the play before hand, but everything after that seems to blur together in noises and light and pain. The doctor asked him a lot of questions, then suddenly it was quiet and Bitty was alone.

But somehow, as quickly as he was alone, then he wasn’t, and there was more confusion and pain and a second of overwhelming sounds. Then the noise was gone, and the pain and confusion was still there, but also comfort and guidance. Soft voices that asked him if he was okay, and Bitty doesn’t think he actually answered that. Just repeats what the doctor told him.

And then there’s hands on him, guiding him gently. He stands and follows where they take him, not thinking too hard about where they lead because thinking makes everything harder. He trusts the people around him, and the quiet voices that he nods along to helps keep him calm as they walk.

The next thing Bitty knows, it’s morning and he’s waking up in an unfamiliar bed with a bad headache. He rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, winces as he tries to sit up and decides he could lay down for a little while longer. He pulls the blanket over his head to block out the morning sun and tries to remember what happened.

He isn’t sure how long he lays there, pulling the tangible memories from the blurred colors and static noises, but after some time there’s a knock on the door. Bitty tugs the blanket off and a horse, “Yeah?” comes out. He clears his throat and tries again, but the door is already opening.

Jack stands in the doorway, shifting a bit awkwardly before “I, uh, I figured you’d be awake by now.” He steps in a bit further, glass of water in one hand and pill bottle in the other. “I brought you some medicine. For your head.”

Bitty smiles and sits up, wincing a bit as sore muscles ached and his head throbbed. “Thank you Jack.” It’s soft and quiet and Bitty has this feeling that he should say more, much more, but the words stick in his throat so he just takes the water and takes a small sip while Jack opens the pill bottle. Bitty tries again to say something, anything, but he’s just lost. Must be the concussion. He takes the pills slowly, trying to gather his thoughts a bit more coherently.

“So, how was the game? We won, right?”

“Yeah, we did. You don’t remember?”

“Not...exactly. It’s almost like it was all a dream. But that’s amazing, I’m glad we, you, still pulled that off Jack. It was a hard game.”

Jack gives him a look, a very odd look that makes Bitty worries for a second that Jack had gotten hurt too, before he finally, “You played a good game Bittle. One of your best. If...I’m sorry about what happened.” Then Jack nods, like he’s finished, and turns to leave. He stops at the door, a quick, “Lardo is bringing you something to eat. She doesn’t trust any of us to cook.” Then he leaves.

Bitty’s mind is trying to play catch up. Jack both complimented him, and apologized to him, in the same beat. He brought Bitty medicine, then he complimented and apologized to him.

Bitty stands up on wobbly legs, swearing quietly about feeling like a newborn deer, before going over to the door. He quietly thanked God when he opened the door and saw Jack sitting on his bed across the hall. He’s sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, but for that moment Bitty didn’t connect the dots. “Jack?”

Jack’s head shoots up, and then he stands. “Bittle is something wrong? Are you okay? What-”

“I just wanted to say thank you. You’re a good captain.”

Jack looks flummoxed for a second, then nods. “You’re a good teammate Bittle. Now go sit back down before you make yourself worse.”

Bitty smiles brightly, leaving the door open as he went to sit back down. His head was already feeling better.


End file.
